Yeah, its a cul de sac. You would think we'd all be buddies like they are on Curb Appeal. But we're not. If someone were to die in their home, they better have some nosy employers, because we'd only bitch among ourselves about the stink and the overgrown lawn.
But at the same time, I am convinced that we are all in each other's business. We all know about the sex offender (a teacher who slept with a student!). We all know about someone's son being in town taking a vacation with his Dad. We know the one house has the two jack russels and the Very Grumpy Owners who don't do the wave when they drive by. (C'mon, I don't like you either, just wave, it's what separates us from the animals).
I used to put on mascara to just go get the Sunday paper. Now? I am not sure how my gardening fashion has devolved to this point. See yesterday's note about the now legendary rip in my pants. At least on that day I was wearing underwear.
Please note, I was not so embarrassed as to throw them out.
My watering attire is even worse. We don't have sprinklers, just soaker hoses. They're fantastic on water consumption and they aren't subject to our draconian water rules. But you can't make one hose snake around for more than 50 feet or they lose pressure. Which means I currently have 13 hoses in the front yard alone. I use a splitter so I can water 2 at a time. Which means I have to walk around outside and move hoses from one bed to another.
Not a big deal, except most days this is after work. After work, after some dinner, after perhaps a cocktail. I'm in my PJ's. My hair is ponytailed. My bra is off. I am comfy. And I am wearing crocks that are 1-2 sizes too large for me (internet ordering) and clomping around the yard. In the cul de sac.
I had convinced myself that no one noticed, especially as the homes on BOTH sides of me are bank owned and for sale (they'll never sell). But the kid up the street has just gotten to that age when all his friends come around with their BoomBoom cars and shout at each other trying to be rowdy and linger outside because his mom and grandma are inside. And they see me. And they stare openly.
Good to know the moment that you have gone from being the chick they go "wooo!" at from the passing car to being the crank they stare at and hope they don't become in a few decades.
I get lots of exercise from standing hastily upright when I hear a car and I'm bent over with my backside toward the road.
ReplyDeleteI stopped waving. I'm shortsighted and discovered that instead of greeting my friend Cornelia in a little green truck daily on the highway, I was waving to the pulpwood cutters on their way home from a day in the woods. Not that I have anything against loggers but I'm not about heartily waving at strange men.